


In It Together

by joycecarolnotes



Series: Heat Center [2]
Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega/Omega
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joycecarolnotes/pseuds/joycecarolnotes
Summary: After their experience at (and being banned from) the retreat, Richard and Jared hole up in Jared's condo.





	In It Together

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel people.... kind of asked for?

"So," Richard begins, "ah, next time. About that. Jared. That place. I don't think we should go back there." 

"Oh no, yes." Jared's eyes go wide. He nods along, definitively. "That ship has sailed, my captain. We've already been informed that we are not welcome back at the retreat." 

"Ah. On account of the, uh." Richard uses his hands to make a lewd gesture. "Because we - ?" 

"I'm afraid so." 

Jared frowns. He doesn't need to add _and nowhere else will have us_; that much, they both already know.

Richard makes eye contact with the floor. He scrapes along it with the toe of sneaker. He looks so guilty, so ashamed, so dejected, and Jared longs to soothe his ache. Longs to assure him that what happened between them at the retreat last month was—excuse his language but _frick_ what his foster father said—wonderfully, perfectly natural.

Richard is still getting used to this, Jared reminds himself. Used to his heats. Used to his needs. Used to being okay with being with Jared. "Richard," he starts, and what he means is to offer an out, to suggest Richard find someone, an alpha, someone better equipped than Jared to fulfill his newfound needs. But the words will break his heart, and he can not bring himself to say them, and Richard interrupts him anyway.

"I just thought. Ah." Richard bites his lip. "I thought maybe we could hole up together, you know, wait it out? Just the two of us? Like - fuck - no offense but." Richard casts his hands through the air. His voice pitches up into a falsetto. "Fuck all those 'oh, oh, don't go in each other's rooms' ...prissy omega retreat people. Right? Right? Just me and you." 

Jared nods again, a little dazed and disbelieving, like he's trying to convince himself. This is so like something out of his wildest, most decadent daydreams: having Richard—wanton, desperate, heat-possessed Richard—all to himself for days on end.

"We can use my condo," Jared offers. It's already equipped with bars over the windows. He has some rope he can use to tie them up if needed, some boards he can nail over the doors. He has a pantry stocked with nutrition bars, and tea (for himself) and energy drinks (for Richard), and at least a week’s worth of Soylent. There are only a few other things they'll need, and Jared knows exactly where to find them.

\--

"Richard." Jared leans against the glass. His voice is soft and soothing. "To be clear, we don't have to try anything you're not 100% comfortable with."

Richard is staring, slack-jawed, into a fluorescent-lit glass case housing hundreds of devices. All colors, all sizes, all shapes. Everything one could desire—from toys to torture implements—all designed to either satisy or prolong an omega's heat.

"What I mean to say," Jared continues, "is the world is your oyster! We can take home whatever you like. Money is no object." 

Jared watches Richard swallow. _Not so long ago_, he thinks, _my mouth was on that throat_. 

"What about. Hmm. I dunno." Richard dawdles. Stalls for time. He picks up a long, sleek, purple dildo for a moment, then sets it back down on the shelf. "I want something," says Richard, and the tips of his ears flush, blushing, "like the blue one you used at the… there." 

Richard smiles, and Jared knows he's thinking of their time at the retreat together, and it's so sweet, and so oddly innocent, that Jared fears his heart might burst. _I am so fortunate_, he thinks, _so astoundingly, unfathomably fortunate, getting to introduce Richard to all this_. Jared thrills at the chance to walk Richard through it, to guide him and provide for him, to ensure his first experiences are loving and gentle and patient, that what he needs and wants is accounted for, the precise opposite of what Jared's own first times had been.

Jared engages a friendly, helpful sex shop sales clerk. He flits about the store beside her while Richard, embarrassed, trails just behind.

"Oh!" Jared exclaims joyfully, "look at that one." 

Richard cringes. "It looks nice." 

\--

And so it begins. Barricaded inside Jared's condo. In the matching pajamas they selected, with the matching easy-access flaps. 

It's a bit odd: sitting together in silence like this, waiting for their heats to start. Sheets pulled back for cleanliness' sake, Kate Bush on the stereo. Jared feels so bashful, he can hardly bring himself to touch Richard's hand where it rests on the mattress beside him. 

He wonders if Richard can feel it too, as his heat begins in earnest. The warmth collecting in his guts, saliva in his mouth, slick on his thighs, the restless, endless _wanting_. He is conscious of a smell—something earthy, tempting, magnificent; something extraordinarily _Richard_—and he opens his mouth to taste it in the air around them.

Jared has always drawn it out. Afraid of taking something he doesn't deserve, of indulging his own baser impulses, he's made himself wait until his need was absolutely, torturously unbearable. With Richard though, he thinks, it could be different. If their experience at the retreat was any indication, he'll want to give Richard everything he can as soon as possible, and Richard's desire will permit Jared to satisfy himself.

The air itself goes taut, alive with tension. The bed seems, somehow, to tingle beneath his hands. There's an unmissable ache in Jared's chest, and he feels the desperation coming, knows it will consume him any moment now. 

Jared starts to panic, then—just as his heat takes over—seized with sudden regret for the words he hasn't spoken, the terror at not living up to Richard's expectations, sick with worry that he will not be—that he, what he is, could never be—enough. _Donald, Donald_, he scolds, shaking his head in disgust. _How could you. So selfish. Thinking you could bring Richard here, into your life. Use him for your own self-serving purposes. As if he doesn't deserve more than what you have to offer him._

"Richard," he cries. He's desperate, suddenly, to get the words out. "I'm so sorry. If you wanted - there's still time, I'm certain, before it gets too bad - there are agencies that handle this sort of thing, people who do it professionally, Richard. I could - darling, I could make some calls, go out now and find someone for you. Someone not like me. Someone different. An alpha. Someone who can give you what you need."

Richard clamps his warm hand over Jared's mouth. He leans down and presses his face to the join of Jared's neck and shoulder, breathes in deeply, and—_goodness_—licks up the side of his neck.

"I don't _want_ that. Stop _saying_ that. Okay? Jared? I don't want an alpha. I never wanted an alpha. Fuck that. I want you." 

\--

Jared fantasizes, sometimes, about protecting Richard. About being able to take care of him, the way that he truly deserves.

The stakes are always high, the drama always life-or-death, in Jared's secret fantasies. He saves Richard from a pack of vicious German shepherds. Offers to be tortured in his place. He throws himself in front of a bullet for him. Tears everyone who's ever hurt or thought badly of or cussed at Richard apart. Jared imagines a rabid gang of alphas, and they want to ravish Richard, hungry for his tender flesh. They're on him from all sides, they've broken through the boarded-up doorway, and Jared imagines tearing into them, gleefully, ripping them apart with bare, bloodied hands if he has to. And he imagines, also, being taken—violated, brutalized—in his captain's stead.

Jared wants, and wants. And it is all for Richard. Just like everything else.

\--

"Is that? Are you? I think I'm? Now?" 

Jared nods solemnly. "Yes." 

Last time, Jared missed this part: when it's first taking over and Richard—wonderfully headstrong, indurate, determined Richard—tries so hard to fight it, knowing he'll lose in the end. Sweat beads along the border of Richard's unruly hairline, his skin flushes a deep scarlet, and the scent pours off of him, in wave after glorious wave. He's so beautiful, so wonderful, so vulnerable. Jared leans in close and breathes it in.

"What do you want," he manages to ask, "darling?" 

Richard reaches up. He tugs viciously at the neck of his pajamas. "I don't - I wanna - wanna - well first I wanna get these fucking terrible pajamas off." 

"I think we can arrange that," Jared offers, smiling gently as he helps Richard get undressed. Jared wonders if he'll ever get over the joy at seeing Richard bared before him: his chest, his skin, his ruddy hair, his perfect nipples. "And what do you want now, sweetheart," he asks. 

Richard scoffs, but he looks a bit embarrassed. "Aren't you supposed to be - you know, 'this guy fucks' and all - aren't you supposed to be the one who knows this stuff?" 

"I could, well - if you wanted, I - " 

"Don't fucking _say_ it. Fucking _do_ it, Jared," Richard whines.

"Alright." 

Blessed as he is with Richard's absolute consent and permission, Jared hardly knows what to try first. He can't think, he can't think, as his own need threatens to drown him in it, and all he can do is smell, and touch, and taste, and feel. He runs his nose down Richard's sweat-drenched spine from the nape of his neck to the slope of his backside, and presses his face right there, to the source of Richard's overpowering scent, the wetness leaking copiously out of him. It smells like pine needles and parchment and, and, and most of all it smells like _Richard_—darling, wonderful Richard—who is absolutely drenching Jared's bedroom in pheromones, just for him.

It's so incredibly intimate, Jared almost weeps at the thought of it: having him, doing this, _here_, in the place where Jared sleeps. 

"Let's, ah." Richard gasps, squirming. "Jared, Jared, c'mon," frantically, "let's both." 

"Let's both - I'm sorry, what?" 

"That - " Richard gestures wildly "that ah, fuck - that - Jared - get that, y'know, one thing. The. That." 

_Oh_. Jared does know which thing. One of the last items they picked out at the sex shop. Something designed for a pair of omegas. Something that, if used as instructed, is meant to fulfill both their needs at once. It's, well, Jared thinks, it is _quite_ the contraption: a long, metal tube with a large bulb at each end, attached to a rather complicated-looking hand pump. 

Jared picks it up from the bedside table and considers it. He has never used one of these before, has always put aside his own needs when given the chance to take care of another. And he's quite sure that dear, sweet, inexperienced Richard hasn't. 

"It's a bit early for this," he says, "don't you think?" 

"Early? Too _early_? You want to - want to - _fuck_." Richard smacks his hand down on the bed, whining in bitter frustration, "you want to wait for - for longer? Jesus, Jared. Fucking _why_?" 

"Oh darling." Jared smiles placidly. "Because I want to do you first." 

\--

Jared does exactly as promised, and it's everything he's hoped for and more. 

He starts with his fingers, then moves on to his tongue. He works the tip inside, delicately spearing Richard, delighted at how relaxed he feels, how easily he opens for him, as he hungrily laps up the moisture inside, feels it soaking his face, his lips, dripping onto the front of his pajamas, down over the slope of his chin. 

"God, fuck," Richard shouts, his hips bucking. "How do you, what are you even, ah! How do you make me _feel_ like this? I've never - christ, Jared - I've never been like this before. Not with a fucking _alpha_. Not with anyone." 

This isn't a surprise exactly. Richard, Jared has learned, rarely thinks of sex at all outside of his heat cycle. Would rather laze in bed all day watching Planet Earth on Jared's laptop than do much of anything else. 

That's not to say their relationship is without intimacy. Far from it. They're not exactly what one would call dating, but then again, they're not quite not-dating either. Jared loves the small, simple ways Richard lets him in, the ways he lets him take care of him: making his breakfast, doing his nails, being his confidant, the bearer of his secrets. It is a place of honor, Jared thinks, whatever else comes with it, even if nothing else comes with it; it is one he is beyond delighted and esteemed to hold.

"Do you like it," Jared whispers, looking up at Richard from between his legs, though he's almost too ashamed to ask the question. So presumptuous, he thinks, practically begging for affirmation and praise. "With me, I mean. Do you like this?" 

Richard blushes, smiles. "Yeah, yeah. It's so good. _You're_ so good, Jared. At this. At everything. Yeah."

Spurred on by the praise, thrilling at it, Jared leans down, means to get back to his task again. He is nothing if not dedicated. 

"Hang on, wait! Just - stop a second - just - "

"Richard?" Jared frowns, concerned. "What is it?" 

"I got to - need to. Fuck." Richard pinches his eyes shut, struggles to get the words out as if he's fighting something, something monolithic and unnameable and ancient inside himself. It's a battle Jared has fought, too, and one he recognizes. He knows that heat can be a mess of need, a many-splendored and many-splintered thing, multitudinous, all-encompassing, a need that stretches out in every possible direction, that feels like it could never be fulfilled. He waits, patiently, for Richard to work out exactly what it is that he needs, in this moment. 

"Could you stop everything," Richard asks, "and just kiss me?" 

\-- 

They can kiss, they find, with the contraption inside them. They can gaze into one another's eyes and hold hands. Jared can study Richard's marvelous expressions, what he looks like when he's so gloriously overtaken, and know that in his own eyes is reflected something more or less the same. 

Jared feels selected, circled out above all others. The way he felt when Richard called him that first night, when Richard hired him. The way that only Richard makes him feel. 

"Oh goodness," he all but shouts, clamping down on the device inside him. He feels hungry, ravenous, drawing it evermore gluttonously inside himself, and he's drenched in sweat, in slick, in Richard. "Oh Richard, oh heavens, I'm - I'm - "

"Yeah, yeah," Richard pants, breathless. His eyes light up, like when he has got a brilliant idea. "That's it. You don't have to - have to - wait any longer. Let that... thing - let it - give you what you need." 

And Jared forgets, just then, that he's supposed to feel selfish, that he's supposed to deny himself, that he's meant to accommodate others while ignoring his own wants and needs. He forgets that he should memorize Richard's expression, in case he never gets the chance to see it again, that he should commit how Richard looks right now—gasping and shaking and clutching Jared's hand, pounding down hard on the toy inside them—to the most treasured and protected corner of his memory. Jared closes his eyes and turns himself over, and either minutes or hours or days pass—he's not sure—in the thrall of a near-torturous pleasure, as he discovers a degree of fulfillment that had, until now, felt awfully out of reach. 

When Jared comes to, his heat broken, he and Richard lie on top of and next to and beneath each other, a mess of lanky limbs and fabric scraps and fluids. 

_Oh dear_, he thinks, _I have a lot of cleaning up to do_. But Richard is holding onto him tightly, and doesn't seem to want to move at all. 

"Jared?"

"Yes?"

"Ich liebe dich," says Richard. His lips move against the curve of Jared's neck. 

Jared, despite Richard's insistence, knows that he doesn't speak German. But even he knows what those words mean, and he can hardly believe he's hearing them.

"_Ich liebe dich_," Richard says again. "You said it when you, ah, you know." Richard sounds so shy. They're back to being bashful now, just like they were before. Richard tucks his hot face into the crook of Jared's shoulder and they lay there, just like that, connected by their shared breaths and by their interlaced fingers and by a deep, mutual, desperately sought-after satisfaction and by the device slowly deflating inside them, exactly where they're meant to be: together. 


End file.
